The London Affair
by M.L. Shards
Summary: During an undercover mission in England, Napoleon is forced to play a bartender and has the encounter of a lifetime. Too bad he doesn't realize it.


I'm not sure what this is…

I'm seventeen and have seen exactly two episode of _Man from UNCLE _so in that regard, please cut me some slack. I think I did all right with characterizations though…

I'm saving up to get the whole series when it's released on DVD in November. I am so excited!

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Napoleon sighed as he rubbed the cloth in circles on the table. Well this was a new low for him, never in his wildest dreams would he have expected to be stuck being the "bartender" while on an undercover mission. It wasn't that he minded the job itself, it was his duty to blend in with a crowd, but it just felt so lowly compared to what his job normally required. 

To poor salt in his wounds, the tall brunette in the short red dress that he'd been flirting with earlier, had taken a liking to a certain Russian Agent who kept rolling his eyes and sipping from his vodka and tonic. After an incident with the London branch of UNCLE, THRUSH was in a hurry to transfer a shipment of records out of the country. Unfortunately, this incident left most of UNCLE London's branch disabled, so Waverly had dispatched him and Illya in hopes of the whole thing being stopped before anymore damage could be done.

The contacts were supposed to be meeting at this party, a celebration of the opening of a swanky new club that only the super elite could gain access to. The only way to get permitted was to take undercover jobs as employees. Illya was lucky enough to be chosen to be a musician, leaving most of his evening free to roam and subtly investigate potential Thrushies as well as "mingle" with the ladies, though Illya wasn't really interested in the latter…

He got to be the bartender.

That just didn't seem fair.

Taking the cloth and resting in on a ledge behind the counter he watched an older man, with graying hair approach the bar. He smiled, ordered a cocktail, then began chatting to another smartly dress man who was sipping away at a drink with a purplish tinge.

Muttering to himself, Napoleon proceeded to force a smile, and then make the cocktail. He handed it over with a small remark about the weather before the older man, took a sip, nodded appreciatively, then moved away from the bar.

All in all, no one stood out as remarkable in this mess of people, but if Napoleon knew anything, that didn't mean a thing.

A man, about Napoloen's age approached the bar, two young women following him, one on each arm, and he couldn't help but feel jealous for once. The man "dismissed" the two women, who went off in the direction of the powder rooms.

"Looks like you're having a successful night." Napoleon remarked, sneaking one more glance over at his partner who was looking quite stunned as the woman in the red dress climbed into his lap. He pushed her off of him and she fell to the floor ungracefully. He snorted at the sight as Illya seemed thoroughly confused as to what had just happened.

The man at the bar followed his line of sight. "Looks like a few people are."

Giving the man a once over, Napoleon frowned.

Something was off.

Running a hand over his neatly placed hair, the man grinned. "Been busy tonight?"

"Quiet." Napoleon replied as his attention was brought back to the man. He seemed too smooth, even for a regular schmoozer… could he be? "You go to parties like this often?"

The man paused to think for minute. "A few I suppose. You don't look like a bartender, you know…"

Napoleon swallowed uncomfortably… "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You look too… sophisticated, and you don't sound British."

Napoleon shrugged, but had a bad feeling. "I'm American, one of the best. They brought me over for this little…" he struggled to find the right word. "Shindig."

"One of the best, hmmm?"

Looking passed the man's shoulder in hopes of making eye contact with Illya, he found, much to his dismay and amusement, which the woman in the red dress had sulked away, only to be replaced with four others who were stroking the arms of his suit jacket. The blonde man looked as though he was ready to tell them off as soon as one of them patted the front part of his hair.

Napoleon rolled his eyes. Seriously, of all the people to decide to emulate the Beatles, he never would have thought of Illya as the type.

It took his a moment to realize the man was staring at him funnily.

"Pardon?" Napoleon asked curiously then winced as he heard the familiar beeping from inside his top pocket.

"I said your pen in ringing."

"Uh… yeah, my Uncle is an inventor. I'm just test driving it for him." Napoleon replied taking the lid off of the pen, to reveal a small microphone and then hastily making an exit.

Pushing through to the back door, he met up with Illya.

"Solo here."

"Kuryakin reporting."

"_How is it coming so far?"_

Both men rolled their eyes as they heard Waverly's familiar voice.

"It's coming a long slowly, sir." Napoleon sighed. "I may have found the contact."

"_Well good, I feel inclined to inform you that MI-6 has taken an interest in the matter. I have been in contact with their chief, and one of their agents is stationed at the party as well. Since UNCLE London, is barely recovered from THRUSH's last attack, I suggest you bring the Thrushies to MI-6 for interrogation. Understood?"_

Both agents replied in the affirmative, pocketed their communicators and headed back out into the fray.

Meanwhile, the man watched as the bartender made a quick exit, then turned to watch as the blonde man, excused himself rather abruptly from the crowd of girls, reaching into his jacket as he exited. He frowned as the other bartender came up to him.

"What can I get for you, sir?" The younger man asked, with messy red hair coated in gel. The man's eyes narrowed.

"Who are those two men?"

The redhead shook his head. "No clue, just hired this morning."

The man scratched his head as he watched the gray haired man walk by the counter, returning his glass.

That was who he was supposed to be worried about, and that's who he needed to stay focused on. Apparently he was a member of some sort of terrorist organizations that operates globally and was supposed to be meeting a contact tonight.

His job was to catch him and his contact, obtain the files, and then return them to headquarters. He couldn't afford to get distracted by any strange musicians or bartenders, M would revoke his position if he didn't.

The bartender waited impatiently before reiterating his question. "Can I get you anything, sir?"

The man slowly grinned. "Vodka martini, shaken, not stirred."

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Disclaimer: Don't own _Man from Uncle_ or _James Bond_. I would be much richer if I did. 

Please Review.


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